


shine with all you have

by SenjuMizusaya



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Naruto
Genre: Adult Arcobaleno, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Eventual Romance, F/M, Feminist Themes, Friendship, Gen, Haruno Sakura-centric, Organized Crime, Sakura is fem!Ryouhei now, Sakura will not let any of her friends get hurt, Sisters, Sun Guardian Haruno Sakura, not if she can help it, taijutsu and boxing is a lethal combination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-08-14 09:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16489994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenjuMizusaya/pseuds/SenjuMizusaya
Summary: Reborn thought he had accounted for all when arriving at Namimori to take on his unwittingly newest pupil: then a steely eyed spitfire walked straight into his plans with boot-clad steps and rosy hair.(Or, Sakura thought she would live an ordinary, civilian life up until Sawada Tsunayoshi started being- well, less of a Dame.)





	1. Instances in the Ordinary

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own KHR!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Sasagawa Sakura's life at Namimori Middle, wherein she is almost average and normal. 
> 
> Or, fledgling bonds and encounters which, at the moment, are but instances in her life to be forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haruno Sakura had so much potential, and for a moment during the series I almost thought she'd live up to it and kick everybody's ass, and it almost happened when she got her Strength of Hundred Seals, but then she went back to the background. That was... disappointing. I had really come to love her. 
> 
> And now I'm starting this fic. Also: why does everything I start threaten to turn into angst? Therefore I solemnly swear I am up to no good and will limit the angst to little tidbits here and there, one being in this chapter (because being reincarnated into an other world is not very nice), for while this fic isn't a bunch of rainbows and laughs, it's not meant to be a tear fest either... Throughout the chapter she should take shape, at least.   
> Although, this first chapter she isn't the most bamf tank ever, but it gets better. She still thinks she's a civilian and that she will remain one, so...

Sasagawa Kyouko rarely got upset, let alone angry. She could not understand those who seemed to pounce on any given opportunity to spit acid words and tear their throats out with screams, could not understand those who seemed to find conflict a good manner of settling disputes. She was for the talk-and-compromise option: it was the only solution close to fair, and if that meant she was on the losing side of the deal, then it was but a small price to pay for the common happiness. In addition, she had found that aggression and anger, in however small amounts, were likely to cause a chain reaction leading to wrath and further conflict- it was, all in all, a very unnecessary thing to act on. 

Sasagawa Sakura digressed. Kyouko's older sister was pro-pacifism, but certainly not in agreement with Kyouko's views on compromises. She was vocal about it, stubborn and solid in her views like a brick wall given the talent of speech. 

"Tch," she'd said when Kyouko, a slip of a girl with eight years on her name and large golden-lime eyes, had tried to convince Sakura of the importance of making others happy, "imouto, you have to stand up for yourself, or they'll take advantage of you." 

Kyouko couldn't for the world figure out who _they_ were. 

Sakura was a year and a half her senior, sharp-eyed and hard-fisted with a quick mind whirring and clicking behind the expressive, often smiling, face. Kyouko adored her, like any good little sister should adore their older sibling. She was -secretly- rather proud of being exactly what was expected of her. Kindness came naturally, she was cooperative and had an ability to cheer people up, and genuinely cared for those around her. She felt awful whenever she lied, and therefore did it very rarely, only ever telling the occasional white lie such as pretending there was _absolutely not_ a surprise party being organized. 

She was nine when she asked, still wide-eyed and short of stature, done with her little scraps of homework though her sister, a year above her, had been saddled with her first essay ever. "Who are _they_? You always refer to _them_ taking advantage and destroying and all other bad things." 

"Huh?" Sakura looked up, soft hair in a rare ponytail. Kyouko had always loved that hair, even if it was unexplainable where from it had come as her father had snowy white hair and mother the same soft ginger-brown locks as her own: it was the startling shade of pink bubblegum. "They are- people who are selfish. If somebody gives them something, they'll take it, even if it makes the other person sad." 

Kyouko wasn't too fond people like that. Her face fell, but she tried to keep up the smile, hopeful with all her might. "Are there many people like that?" 

Her sister, infinitely older and wiser and bigger, did not answer for a few moments, glancing around her room. It was a nice room, themed a creamy beige, dusty red and misty gray. There were many books of all genres, though Kyouko knew Sakura's favorites to be fantasy and serious books, and two posters above the bed: one an old-fashioned map of Japan and the other carefully drawn herself: a thick red swirl inside a funny leaf. Finally, the older Sasagawa said: "There are some out there- I think everybody's got a bit of both, a little good and a little bad, but that some people have more good than other or less good than others." 

Kyouko did not like the sound of that, for it meant she, too, had  little bad in her- it was a terrifying thought she decided to prove wrong. But she did not argue with Sakura. That could perhaps lead to a quarrel, and if there was one thing Sasagawa Kyouko did not like and feared, it was conflict. 

 

* * *

  

Sakura could not say for sure when it had happened. Perhaps she had been Haruno Sakura all along, simply slowly regaining consciousness, or perhaps she was Sasagawa Sakura whose head was stored with memories not her own. The memories had slid into her head, one by one, _drip drip drip_ , and it was impossible for her to remember the first one she'd ever experienced: by the time she figured out she had lived a life before, it was more of a realization that she'd known it for a while than an earth-shifting epiphany, and by the time she realized the world had no chakra, it was also simply a statement of something she'd known for a while. 

Yet- 

There was _something_ buzzing beneath her skin, a sparkling little tickle, slivers of energy in her core. But it was not Chakra, that much she knew, and she was unable to use it, but old habits died hard and she still woke up with a mute scream twisting her tongue from time to time, hands sticky with blood that wasn't there and back burning with a nonexistent scar. Luckily, it rarely happened, but the lingering trauma remained a shadow in the dustiest shelves of her head and no respectable shinobi did not utilize Chakra-equivalents. 

And that was why her mother thought she was a wise child despite all the rougher edges, trying to find spiritual enlightenment through mediation. All Sakura did was trace the little pathways and slivers of warm fire. She did not feel spiritual at all. She felt like a child lost in a whirlwind and trying to find a way out, and perhaps, that was what she was. The world was a strange place filled with strange people, places and things, and Sakura did her very best to fit in. It helped that the memories had come gradually, for it meant she'd learned to talk like them, eat like them, think like them- she even felt like them, even though she knew she was something of an anomaly. 

But she'd be damned if she didn't try to live this life. 

Sakura knew Kyouko looked up to her, but secretly, she thought perhaps it should be the other way around: she should be the one taking pages out of her sister's book, mellowing down and not going boxing and stop rehearsing taijutsu katas in her room. But instead, she didn't. 

There were many things she didn't do. 

As an ex-medic, Sakura was fully aware that a child was at its most impressionable during its early years. It was then she'd had least kunoichi memories, and therefore was certain there were sides of her that were more Sasagawa than Haruno. The secret energy -for nobody else seemed to have it-  was but one. For once, she felt she understood Naruto's proneness to fidgeting and moving around, bouncing up and down as though no hardship could bring him down. Sakura felt almost like an optimist, and certainly more zealous at times. She'd always determined, but it had been the iron kind, bloodied and guilt-ridden, but now, instead of simply being a dark tunnel with light at the end, it felt as though it had been lit with crystals to lighten the way. 

She retained the hair. Originally, she'd been supposed to be named Kyouko, but with the little tuft on pink it had been changed to the name she'd ploughed on with a lifetime ago. The shape of her face remained relatively similar -the jut of the chin, the slant of the eyes, even hints of the cursed forehead though mercifully less obvious- but the impish curve of the eyebrows were new, as well as the only trait she'd inherited from her new father, Sasagawa Norio- the stone gray eyes. 

Whenever she looked into the mirror during her younger years, they'd fractured her face, made it look like pieces of a puzzle forcefully molded together, cracking her as though she were but a doll on a shelf. Blessedly, however, by the time she'd finished elementary she was fully comfortable in her new body (normal body with too many memories?) and while she could never answer her persistent dilemma on whom she was at her core, what she did know was that it mattered very, very little. 

 _Extremely_ little. 

Naruto would've known it, he would've said Sakura was Sakura no matter what. Sasuke- would have been unimpressed. Kakashi would have rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezed, and by the time she'd turned around to say something, anything, he'd be on his way again. But they weren't there. They were figments pressed inside her head, little figurines and memories. Many of the things stuffed there were mundane things, something she'd developed an appreciation of as well as a parallel track of lurking boredom and a sense of shinobi suspicion: was there truly not a single danger more notable than the yakuza gang slowly being driven out of Namimori, the rabid chihuahua a few neighborhoods away or some local bully? 

With that in mind, as well as with the knowledge that at thirteen she'd made Chuunin in an other world, she stepped inside Namimori Junior High. And was almost instantly told dyed hair was not allowed. 

 

* * *

 

Hibari Kyouya's first impression of the girl who would come to get onto the _Uncooperative Students List_  was not particularly memorable. It was his second year and, granted, her first: he'd taken charge of the Disciplinary Committee and was making rapid progress in molding it into what fit him more, smartening up the school in leaps and bounds simply by making sure regulations were followed _as they should be_. Wearing the uniform correctly, attending classes, no unnecessary roaming of the hallways, no cursing nor fighting were the first to be put into heavy scrutiny, but there were many others as well. One such rule was a ban of dyed hair. 

"My hair isn't dyed," the girl said patiently to the DC student posted near the entrance. Her hair was a the searing shade of pink of a sunset, brushing against her shoulders in a neatly brushed fashion, simple messenger bag slung over one shoulders and lithe muscles hinting beneath creamy skin. As he approached, following his patrol of making sure his tightening of order was being followed (the beginning was always the hardest, he knew), the pink haired new student rummaged around in her leather bag, found what she was searching for, and showed an ID-card. He was too far away to make out the details and was only paying an afterthought of attention to the scene playing out. "The photo is one of me when I was ten- look, pink hair." 

The DC student nodded, lips thinned and eyebrows furrowed but following instructions nonetheless despite being a handpicked thug-in-making eager to win approval from superiors, and she continued on into the school grounds. Hibari's fleeting note on the young student was _sensible_ , before he moved on to where he glimpsed two young boys not abiding the dress code. Namimori had plenty of rules, new and old, and to make sure they started being abided was his job. What he'd started last year as a first year would pale in comparison to what he had planned. 

Namimori was _his_. 

But the weeks passed on and he forgot about her as much as her permitted himself to forget about any student attending his school. She seemed to be a constant variable: hard-working though aggravatingly stubborn, a background character important in her own circles but not a school figure of idolization nor demonization. At one point he knew she got referred to  _brainy athlete with a nice ass and a cute laugh_ , and at an other it was something closer to _that chick with the bright hair who doesn't need to study much_. Hibari didn't pay more attention than taking a background notice, a little mark in the bottom of a page. There were many hundreds of students in the school, and while there were many unfortunates whom he payed plenty more attention to there was also a great portion of the students to which he payed even less attention. Perhaps it was the searing hair color or casual self-confidence she held herself with, but likely because she would obviously be taking over the role of captain of the small female boxing team: it was no more than reasonable and logical to know the name of a person he'd have to put up with during school pupil's meetings in the future. 

The second time the brunt of his attention was focused on her was six weeks into the first term. By then he'd put his stamp onto the school and changes had morphed what had, a couple of years ago, been a rather sloppy school into a well-structured system of order and regulations all in his hands. His grip was one of iron and while the pupils scrambled like herbivores to fit the new requirements of being an acceptable student in order to avoid the repercussions, it only grew more solid. Those who rebelled, whether by questioning the authority of a DC student or simply being a nuisance, quickly stopped. He'd made sure of it. 

There was a lot to make sure of, but he did not mind in the least. 

One of the main points which remained a problem after the six weeks was the common occurrence of a hand slipping where it shouldn't. It was being worked on, but a major obstacle was getting the female population to actually alert anybody, as they usually only shied away with hurried steps and disappeared into the horde of their friends like the grazers they were. And the prancing male population should not be disrupting the peace because of some misplaced notion that they had more rights- they were _all_ herbivores, skittish and weak, and they proved it over and over again. 

But when a female did break the record in causing a scene -for some had started fussing and pointing it out- it was by breaking an other rule. Violence was not permitted, though the DC was excluded from that notion by adding a sentence in italics about commitment to maintaining order beneath the paragraph. 

He arrived a mere minute after the crowding began, which instantly dispersed enough for him to see what was going on. It was one of the sensible ones who'd spoken up, the pink-haired girl who'd instantly joined the small female boxing team and (as he'd predicted) become its captain in record time- one of the school's two omnivores, he had preliminarily classed her as (perhaps a generous title, but he would rather be safe than sorry until his control had turned absolute, and it would, he felt it, it was just there, brushing against the tips of his calloused fingers). She'd already struck down the perpetrator (Hibari would come to hear that instead of simply telling him off, she'd whipped around and used the force of the turn to elbow him in the face with a scream of _pervert_ ), and was in a loud argument with the DC student who'd taken it upon himself to warn her that a second act of violence would be punished. 

"Hypocrite!" Was all Hibari caught before the rosy-haired, steel-eyed female -Sasagawa, he recalled- swung her leg out in an almost impressive display of flexibility and muscle control, and struck the junior DC square in the chest. The young boy crashed into the wall behind him when he stumbled back, coughing and groaning from deep in his bruised chest, sagging like a rag doll. "All DC members are guys, I'm not blind! What the fuck do you know about being a girl!?" 

Coarse language was also prohibited. 

He'd have to work on the explosive girl with the flashy hair. 

 

* * *

  

By the end of the first semester, September coming and marking half of the year gone with the summer breeze and trees turning no honey orange and fiery reds, Sasagawa Sakura had nestled herself onto the DC's watch-list and she knew it. Luckily, her grades were above average and most of the time, she knew she was a decent human being who was polite and was generally an agreeable person to be around. She'd made friends, was taken seriously by most teachers and students alike, did a relatively good job at avoiding upsetting the DC -where she walked the thin line between being forgotten again or going from the watch-list to what Sakura suspected to be a hit-list. 

"Nezu-sensei has it out for me," complained Kimiko, a perky girl dark of hair and thin of limbs as were so many of the young adolescents around Sakura. She'd been there, once, a hazy lifetime ago, dieting and fretting about appearances. "He hates me, I promise!" 

"That's not true," she assured her friend, "Nezu-sensei doesn't hate you, it'll pass- you usually score well on his tests."

"But he was so awful today, you heard what he muttered for the whole class to hear when he gave back my test- _disappointing grades, but why don't you go to the board and solve the question if you're so confident_ ," Kimiko insisted as they walked through the school gates. She brushed away stray strands from her face with fingers bony because of early adolescent luck and dieting. Sakura, too, was at the gangly stage but permitted herself to eat healthy portions, knowing all her practices demanded it (and the teenaged part of her recalling the shame over a small bust which perhaps could have been rounder).  

"That was unfair," Sakura agreed with a nod, "honestly, nobody likes him except for Gina-san and Yuueno-san, and they like all teachers, even PE's Rinnomiya-sensei." 

Kimiko sobered at that, sniffing and blinking as she tried to shield herself from the first chill of the year by pulling her jacket closer around herself. She sounded doubtful when speaking: "I knew they were teacher's pets, but even Rinnomiya-sensei? She's got to be a psycho." 

Not so much a psycho as a hard teacher genuinely trying to whip her stick-legged, reluctant girls into shape through harsh methods, but Sakura kept that to herself. "Even Rinnomiya-sensei," she confirmed sagely, "and I know for a fact that Nezu-sensei is dead scared of her as well." 

"Most are, probably," Kimiko smiled, looking significantly more cheered up and content as they walked down the road together. "I bet even you are!" 

Sakura laughed, a short burst only as she twisted the ends of her pink hair around pale fingers. There was nobody at the school she _feared_ : Nezu was annoying but not a great bother to her, Rinnomiya was somebody who held her respect and the thuggish last-year, Akamu, was a source of great frustration grating on her nerves. Akamu was the only one of those who was a student, and from what she'd been able to gather he had been a walking manifesto of terror last year, but the DC had swiftly dealt with him, and now he was the one flinching more often than not. There was something disconcerting about the Disciplinary Committee's alleged transformation in Hibari Kyouya's capable hands. 

The Demon Prefect. 

Perhaps, Sakura could almost say, he was the one she was closest to being disquieted by, if only because he was the only person able to dredge up an uncertainty from a depth she avoided, laying it bare in her mind. And it angered her. So what if his eyes were the coldest iron she had seen in over a decade, so what if he had a rare smirk almost matching Madara's- it shouldn't disconcert her. But it did. He had the eyes of somebody who could end up killing people one day and get away with it. He had the eyes of a shinobi, and in an other world that might not have alarmed her, but this was a village of civilians and he had that gleam naturally, the cut of the shoulders ready and steadiness of his step prepared for- something. 

(Everything.)

She wasn't unaware of Namimori's astoundingly dropping crime rates, wasn't oblivious to the increase in DC membership, wasn't deaf to _I'll bite you to death_ becoming a feared whisper rippling through the school. But Sakura looked away and moved on. One day, she had decided, she would move away and travel, eventually move into a large city bustling with life and activity. Hibari was taking control of Namimori, starting with the school and neighborhood, and Sasagawa Sakura had a younger sister who would start school the following year, a handful of closer friends and aplenty acquaintances. She would much rather focus on that, a yakuza in making be damned. 

 

* * *

  

"Is middle school very different?" Kyouko asked one dinner, the late November rain cascading down outside in frigid showers pelting the roof and smattering against the windows. "Hana-chan and I are really looking forward to it, but... oh, I'm rather nervous. What if they don't like me? Are they nice there? Is it easy to get lost?" 

The younger sister's expression was one of shy fretting and eager hope, widening her eyes between those dark lashes and a little smile flirting with the corners of her lips like the tentative rays of the first spring sun. Sakura swallowed her mouthful before answering, thinking that Kyouko would be such a success in school for her sweetness, innately kind streak and feminine cutesies; "There's nothing for you to worry about, you'll have lots of friends. And there are no bullies anymore, the DC is strict but as long as you follow the rules you'll be fine. Trust me, you won't have to worry about anything. Not even getting lost."

The lie slipped out so easily Sakura barely noticed it herself. There was only one bully left, the one top dog going unchallenged, and Sakura thought that if she really wanted to help out, find a drive to give her a lifeline while she stayed in Namimori, it would be an attempt to do something about Hibari Kyouya. But she wasn't lifting a finger, they remained by her side and wrote essays for her and curled into knuckles during boxing and taijutsu. She almost felt bad, a moment of discomfort brushing its fingers along her spine, thinking of slanted gray-blue eyes and hair so dark she almost expected to see ink drip out of it. 

"Nothing to worry about at all?" Kyoyko asked, smile shining a little brighter, a little closer to the spring smile able to thaw the ice around almost any heart. 

"Nothing at all," Sakura promised. Namimori was an ordinary place and truly, there were no dangers lurking about for somebody like Kyouko, who neither saw or searched for the shadows of the world. Sakura wished she believed herself. Sakura wished a lot of things. "You'll have an amazing time, there's no need for you to worry." 

Kyouko smothered a little sigh of relief, returning to her meal. Sakura banned any thoughts of how she'd wiped the floor with bullyboy Akamu when he'd started picking on the shy girl in the back of her class, her knuckles raw and a little nick remaining where his front teeth had cut into her skin at her unprofessionally brawl-style uppercut. She smiled and speared the steamed carrot onto her fork. 

"There's months left," placated Sasagawa Norio, an unusual contribution to dinner talk from his part. He had the a look of the lawyer he was, with composed frowns, steady hands and paper-white hair. The gray eyes they shared were in turn inherited from his European mother. Sakura was certain he'd have liked to have at least one son as well, but that had not happened. Instead he had a pair of girls, one a brick wall and the other a dream, and no son to speak of. Then, steely gray pools turned to his eldest, inquiring and cool like glass; "Sakura-chan, how did your test go?" 

"It went well," she answered while her mother returned from the kitchen with a replenished bowl of rice, placing it on the table and once again occupying her usual seat. Kyouko had inherited her mother's features and coloring, while Sakura had her father's coloring and some of both parent's features mixed in with Haruno ones, such as her unexplainable pink hair. "Eighty-seven percent." 

"Oh, Norio-san," sighed Sasagawa Ayame with a soft smile, "please don't only ever ask about academically accomplishments, there is more to life." 

Sakura loved the normality of the Sasagawa household, despite all its flaws, and cocooned herself in it like toddlers would wrap themselves in blankets to shield them from the outside, a soft and warm layer of safety. Caring. Impenetrable. Unshakable. 

Trustworthy. 

* * *

The first time Hibari and Sakura ever exchanged words was in the school's prim hallway. Outside, the sun struggled to convey its watery, wintry rays to the world so far beneath, and inside it was warm enough for students to wear only their uniform and sit in their classes without a hint of frost-bitten ears or hunched shoulders while the snow lay in an uneven veil of white across the grounds. 

Sakura saw him as he'd just rounded a corner, and while there were few students in the corridor all together, the many stragglers made haste to rush to the nearest staircase and disappear at the sight of his misleadingly ordinary frame and coal hair. There was another two minutes until hallways were forbidden territory with the start of the break, she knew, but Kimiko was at the toilets and like any good friend she waited right outside, leaning against the wall.

She caught herself starting to avert her gaze, caught herself focusing the brunt of her attention to the corner of a tile where it met the wall just to her right. It made a warmth spark in her stomach, spreading with the low hiss of water meeting a scorching surface through her veins, made the irons of her eyes melt against the fire flickering inside. Almost a whole year of avoiding, dodging and tiptoeing, of stepping away from his path like her friends did, and it all built up until the friction finally sparked the final little straw.

( _She was so very tired_.)

"Hello," she said, but nobody said hello to Hibari just like that, nobody except for Kusakabe occasionally and he was the second in command, it was an unspoken rule of silence and nods. Sakura was good with neither, the only time she'd done that was in an Academy wherein she'd suppressed herself and caused a second personality to take root inside her head, whispering and screaming opinions and frazzled feelings which unraveled her at the seams of existence. 

( _She's tired like she'd been when staring off a bridge and feeling useless._ )

Her chin was set, a bad habit, but she met his stare evenly, smiling politely with crinkling eyes and honey curling the edges into something jagged. Although- his attention seemed to pass through her, not fasten onto her yet. 

( _She's tired like she'd been after being in the hospital for a week and a frantic energy shuddering and-_ )

"I was wondering about the whole violence issue," she said conversationally, standing up straight and brushing creases off her skirt. "About the way the DC excluded itself from rules, I find it awfully convenient for you." 

( _She's tired the way she used to be when nobody would fucking challenge her and fights were indefinitely postponed_.)

Nobody had ever called them out for it. 

There- finally, finally, finally fucking finally he looked at her, truly looked at her, every speck of his attention was solely on her, only Sasagawa Sakura and not simply a scenario in which she happened to stand in the background. His eyes were neither stormy blue nor mountainous gray, perhaps a sea at its tempest, unbound and intense, the sharp end of a blade and picking her apart, not at all something to be shared in a middle school hallway but for a battlefield torn by elements and littered with dead. It almost made her breath catch. 

But not quite. 

She wasn't tired anymore.

Instead, Sakura's mind whirled. Where did he keep his tonfa? It had to be in the sleeves, there they were easily hidden from the unpracticed eye and easy to lug around. Would he attack now? From where? He'd have to go for a strike to her shoulders or head first, he knew she'd be able to block it as a boxer, but then he'd go against her boxing codes by striking her side, likely left ribs as that was more difficult to defend than the right. But Sakura had taijutsu to back her up and her skills may be rusty, but she sure as hell hadn't been lazy. 

Then, he moved, a swift lunge with metal flashing into existence along the line of his arm. Sakura sidestepped, avoiding the next hit by redirecting instead of the much more painful stopping of his tonfa,  forearms bruising at the impact but bearably so, a muted hit only as she danced, pushed away, dodged and threw in her own rapid punches which he narrowly twisted away from in swerving turnarounds used to put more force into his own blows. 

He had metal to enhance his own jabs, but was limited by having to angle his arms a certain way. 

Sakura was _free_. 

Afterwards, none beaten and only a few minutes later, bruises blooming beneath the her white shirt and his back likely discoloring as well, a clear draw, Hibari said: "Students aren't allowed in the corridor during the break." 

 _You're a student too_ , Sakura thought, smiling like Yamanaka Ino had during the Chuunin exams, and while she never said it out loud, iron pools conveyed and his eyes flashed with hints of a smirk. She barely noticed Kimiko nervously peering out from the slight crack of the toilet door, and when Sakura walked away, her friend's steps nervously shuffling after a few moments later in almost a frenzied jog though running was prohibited inside the school hallways, it was of her own volition and not someone else's command. 

Sakura was _alive_.  

* * *

Sawada Tsunayoshi did not look forward to attending Namimori Middle. He was dragging himself out of elementary with no margins to speak of, and had spent the last two weeks enduring -together with the rest of the class- suddenly sparked rumors of how their future school was not at all as laid back as it had been a year ago. The headmaster had been the only feared figure, back then, but now he was dethroned by the allegedly frightful DC with a demon prefect as its head. At thirteen, there were two weeks left of school and he was visiting Namimori middle, the future of his education for the coming years. 

He tripped into the school, hands scraping against the asphalt ground and knees stinging at the impact. It was early April, the cherry blossoms starting to dot the trees like soft pink cotton, and Tsuna went from seeing faces to seeing wet shoes at eye-level. He ground his teeth and bit back a startled, whining yelp, shuffling to his feet again and quickly dusting his yellow jacket off again, a frantic movement done more of habit than worry for creases. Behind him, some student laughed: they were vaguely familiar when they passed him, one -Mochida, he recalled when noticing the messy mop of black hair and broad grin flashing teeth- harshly bumping into him with a sharp, short little jeer. 

Tsuna didn't find it funny at all, almost tripping over his own feet at the impact and trying to muster a smile to make them lay off, as he had learned whining just egged them on while pretending to be part of the joke only made them laugh further, which was much less painful though humiliating in a manner fraying him at the seams of identity and whatever pride, whatever miserable sliver of  _dignity_  he had left somewhere inside. He almost wished it wasn't there, for then perhaps the shame would dull and soften. 

But Mochida wasn't leaving him alone that day, Mochida stopped and turned to him and Tsuna just wanted to disappear into the ground. The raven said: "Inspecting the ground, again, Dame-Tsuna?" 

His two friends laughed. Tsuna couldn't muster anything anymore, feet rooted to the ground he'd just parted from and knees locked. His hands were cramped around the straps of his bag. He managed: "Ahh... I-" 

"Or did you just trip again?" Mochida asked, his words nothing but tone a kick to the heart. The brunette Sawada felt _tired_ , tired and afraid: he just wanted to continue on. It was meant to have been a new start, but he supposed he shouldn't be surprised: almost all of his classmates were going to attend Namimori Middle as well. He was about to say something, anything, but then- 

"Can I help you?" 

The adolescent who'd arrived had to be a third year, unusual rosy hair tumbling to her shoulders and fair of skin. For the first time it struck Tsuna that it wouldn't be little girls he'd go to school with, but actual teenagers, such as pink-haired girls who were wide of hip and pretty of face. He averted his gaze. Usually, he never spoke to any females at all, not counting his mother. 

She stepped nearer. Lithe muscle hinted at her legs. Her smile was graced with a dimple on one side, but her eyes were the thunderous gray of a storm, gleaming with a flash of lightning. Tsuna had always been good at noticing things like that, saw and felt them intuitively, a little churn in his gut. He was not the smartest around, but he had survived thanks to his instincts. Swallowing, he took a step back. 

"What?" Mochida asked disinterestedly, taking in her rather appeasing form. He knew the raven had always liked pretty girls, and the rosy-haired student may be a year or two older, but she was certainly easy on the eyes. "No, everything's fine here-" 

"Good," said the girl, her smile twisting and hardening at the edges, the hand on the swell of her hip white-knuckled. "Then why don't you _run along_?"

Mochida Kensuke never ran from anything. That was a known fact in Namimori Elementary: his friends knew it, the class knew it, the entire year knew it. Even Tsuna knew it. But there was something disconcerting about the rosette, something off about her her eyes -polished gun-barrel iron specked with molten silver- and set jaw. 

"Are you part of the Disciplinary Committee?" Mochida's friend asked, a plump boy with narrow eyes, testing the waters before anybody took action. 

"No," smiled the unknown student, crossing her arms and head cocked to the side. "But they'll pass here soon." 

Mochida and his two friends looked torn between staying to scowl and splutter or leaving with a huff, but eventually they chose the latter. Tsuna couldn't believe his luck. He dared another glance at the older student. 

"You shouldn't have just stood there," she chided, and he abruptly found himself staring at his worn sneakers again, ears burning and the admonishment. He heard her come nearer. There weren't any specific shoes one had to wear as part of the uniform, but it was an unwritten law for girls to wear Mary Janes, which she did it certainly not do. She wore sturdy leather boots reaching halfway her calves, black and shiny with slight, hard heels. They stopped next to him. He dared to glance up again, eyes flitting from her militaristic shoe gear to her face. Her eyes had softened into warm smoke. "Hey, don't worry." 

He wanted to thank her. "I- I don't think the DC likes boots," he blurted out instead, and once again wanted to sink through the earth. But instead of looking panicked or worried, the pink-topped girl threw her head back and let out a peal of laughter reminiscent of rushing water, slightly husky but so very genuine. He paused. "Sorry." 

"Don't apologize," she shook her head, making the eye-catching tresses fly around her finely shaped face. He swallowed, trying to come up with something interesting to say, anything at all. He must have looked nervous or grim. "Jeez, really, don't worry. I promise, it's fine. The DC and I have never liked each other but still, they know me, they know my boots." 

She smiled fondly at him, almost a grin, glancing up again with warm eyes. Tsuna said: "Okay. Ahh... I mean, that's- good?" 

Her smile remained firmly intact when she straightened, but the expressive eyes betrayed a hint of concern. She stood just a little taller than him, the difference almost none. "If there's ever anything, come talk to me, okay?" 

"I-" Tsuna started. It wasn't the first time somebody had offered to help him: it wasn't a regular experience, but it wasn't the first. It was only ever almost total strangers who said such things. The people who knew him were the people who avoided him. He swallowed again. He spared Nana a thought, figuring he should try to make friends: it was a new start after all. But in the background he could still see Mochida and his two friends trying to find the DC members who were allegedly on their way, and thought it wasn't a new start, not really, not since everyone from his past simply trailed along, growing up alongside. There was nothing new around him, only continuation. He heard himself say: "I'll do my best." 

The girl looked at him for a moment longer, then announced: "I'm Sasagawa Sakura, captain of the female boxing team." 

"It's nice meeting you, and- that's cool," he found himself saying, found himself _meaning_ it. He continued; "I'm Sawada Tsunayoshi, but everybody calls me-" 

"Dame-Tsuna," Sakura filled in. It wasn't an accusation but a statement. Tsuna cringed, feeling as though somebody had kneed him in the stomach. Her words were: "Don't let them." 

He glanced at her again. She flashed him a secretive smile impish at the corners, pointing at her forehead and, in a hushed whisper and a twinkle dancing in her eye, confessed: "They used to call me Forehead, years ago. But once you stand up for yourself, things get better." 

"They did?" He questioned, doubtful as he slanted a glance at her rather proportionate forehead. Well, if he stared long and hard, it was not a small one, but he'd never have been able to describe it as big. "Well, at least you're confident enough." Was that too direct? Was it too blunt? 

But Sasagawa Sakura chuckled, almost a giggle though not quite ladylike enough for that. For a moment, he thought she'd reach out and touch his hand, but instead she started walking. "It's not confidence, it's being comfortable. Well, I've got to go, the boxing team is waiting for me." 

She jogged away in those dark boots he was pretty sure the Germans had worn during the Great War, throwing him a wave over her shoulder and older students letting her pass without a fuss as she made her way towards what Tsuna presumed to be the gym. Too late, he realized he didn't know what year she was in and that the DC had never showed up. And wasn't there a ban on dyed hair?  

* * *

Yamamoto Takeshi first met Sasagawa Sakura at a baseball practice, and had almost forgotten all about her afterward, what with the coming preliminaries peeking over his horizon like the first rays of a blazing sun. His captain was a tall third year with a strict curriculum pressing everybody to their limits, and it wasn't unusual for his unofficial girlfriend -Fujimoto Kimiko, a svelte girl with dark hair and eyes- to watch their practices or games. 

He'd been retrieving a stray ball when she came up to him. He'd hardly taken notice of her up until the tips of laceless black boots marched into the edge of his peripheral vision. 

"Excuse me," said the girl behind him, and he turned around, coming face to face with somebody he recognized as a fellow athlete though he could not say for sure who she was. The baseball bat was clammy in his hands and he loosened his grip to let slivers of air soothe his balmy palm. "Have you seen Kimiko-chan?" 

"Wha- oh, yeah, sure," he nodded. It was three weeks into term and the weather had finally gotten hot enough for him to practice with a t-shirt without having to worry about getting chilled. He wiped his forehead with the back of his free hand, pointing at the general direction of the wooden benches at one side of the pitch. "She's right there." 

"Thank you, and good luck," answered the girl, pastel locks ruffled by the wind and smile cheery, hurrying away along the side of the pitch. When she reached the benches, she nimbly jumped over the first three in concise jumps to reach her friend. Perhaps she was part of the parkour team? He was fairly certain her first name was Sakura (her telltale hair made it an easy memory hook) but he couldn't for the world remember her last name or specific sport. Asking who she was momentarily burned on his tongue, but with a shrug he swallowed it back when the distance was too great.

Takeshi returned to practice, and thought nothing more of it. 

They met again a week later, when he'd tried a different way to school to see what the shortest one would be. The sun was even warmer but the breeze came from the cold northwest, nipping at any exposed skin, seeping through clothing like ice water and tearing through the budding leaves with merciless claws. He'd just started lamenting the fact that he'd opted to leave his yellow jacket at home when, halfway to school, two girls in matching uniform walked out the door two houses further down the street. The buildings on the street were almost identical, with small, neat lawns and low fences to mark their land, the walls a soft white-beige and roof a deeper brown. The only differences were the curtains glimpsed behind the impeccably wiped windows, the flowers on the windowsill and the cars parked outside the house. 

He recognized one as the idolized Sasagawa Kyouko, sweet of face and nature with wide eyes and slender arms which he unfortunately doubted would be any good for baseball, and waved at the duo with characteristic cheer. "Good morning, Kyouko-san, Sasagawa-san!" 

The petite girl jumped, lime eyes flashing to his and an endearing beam lighting up her features, waving back as she and the other girl waited for him to join them. "Good morning, Yamamoto-kun." 

"Morning," greeted the other girl amicably. He recognized her and her bold hair, guessing:

"Sasagawa Sakura-san?" 

Her lips stretched into an easy smile. "That would be me." 

He made another guess: "The parkour girl?" 

The smile widened into a grin mischievous at the edges, kind nonetheless. "Boxing," she corrected primly, standing a little straighter. The uniform was not a flattering garment, and apart from the sinewy muscles of her feminine thighs he did not see many muscles, but he took her word for it. She seemed to recall something. "And you're on the- baseball team, am I right?" 

"Yeah," he laughed with a merry shrug. His shoulders were cramped from the day before, not the best sign, but he had no practice scheduled for that day, luckily. "I've been doing it since I was- ah, small?"

Kyouko smiled. It was a stark contrast against her sister's, which was untamed and warm like a hearth, reminding him of summer days beneath lush, verdant canopies and beach weekends during holidays, tropical in it affectionate cheek and kindness. The younger's was soft and mellow, another season altogether, the first warm breeze of the year and caressing with thawing properties. 

He couldn't recall the exact age he'd started baseball, but after a moment of contemplation he settled on the notion that it mattered little at the moment. He'd check when he came him if it bothered him, which it did not at the moment. He felt light and secure, the sun a ball of white gold ascending the azure skies and trees starting to look properly green as May knocked on everybody's door. 

"I used to to gymnastics," Sakura informed him, a truce between pensive and airy. "But I quit the summer before I started Middle school and picked up boxing. It seemed more- suitable." 

Kyouko's lips did a funny thing which he couldn't interpret, part amused and part disapproving. 

"I tried it out for a few months when I was small," he contributed with a fond grin. "I wasn't any good at it." 

In the end, it took ten more minutes than normal to get to Namimori Middle, but it was a good day. The sky was clear of clouds and the school clear of Hibari, and all seemed peaceful. 

"See you around!" 

He parted from the two sisters, Kyouko starting to search for her own friends, perhaps Kurokawa Hana. Yamamoto scanned the area, trying to find any mate from his baseball team. He spotted his captain, but he was talking lowly with softly burning eyes to Kimiko, and as a result he stalled further to try to find somebody else. Sakura, who although not finding qualms with socializing still preferred to keep to her own group, lingered next to him. 

"They're cute together," Takeshi mused to his quasi-acquaintance, tone goodnatured and hazel eyes crinkling when he smiled. After a moment he added, just in case: "I'm Yamamoto Takeshi." 

Sakura flashed him that special impish, lopsided, friendly smile as they started parting, each gravitating to those they knew better; "I know, it's nice talking to you, though." 

He'd not even taken three steps, he heard the unmistakeable voice of Sawada Tsunayoshi holler over all the school ground's ruckus, uncharacteristically loud and clear and filled with conviction as it cut through the air like a spear: " _Sasagawa Kyouko-chan! Go out with me!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. I have to admit I really liked writing this chapter. I really love Sakura^^ She feels so humane yet so strong. 
> 
> Ship is currently undecided, but I'm very tentatively thinking of some Hibari/Sakura with a little Squalo/Sakura at some point. _Tentatively._ Or swaths of Reborn/Sakura, maybe: everything is eventual, either way. Still thinking about it, as you might have noticed, so I'm open for just about anyone.  
>  Honestly, at this point I don't care very much yet^^


	2. Setting the Foundations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ordinary of Sakura's life starts to be seared away by nearing fires, the veil of civilian she has draped herself in starts scorching away and she is unsuccessful in not noticing the budding team forming at school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaahahahaha sorry for the late update... In case anybody out there thought this story was abandoned, here's a promise: I won't ever abandon this story, despite my shitty updating schedule. 
> 
> Also, in case you're confused later on, this starts out with an angry Sakura who has been patient for a little too long and therefore is easily angered from the start.
> 
> Ps, there's gonna be some texting in this chapter and the typos there are on purpose because that's what happens when you type too fast. 
> 
> Prepare for inappropriate humor with swaths of angst and a whole lot of buildup.

Sakura had surprisingly little trouble finding the usually inconspicuous Sawada Tsunayoshi's form, mostly because he was anything _but_ inconspicuous at the moment but also because of the telling stares fastened onto him, like sunflowers turning to face the sun: everybody observed this new unexpected and unheard of situation. He was almost naked, and there was an orange flame flicking upon his forehead, pulsing with energy. 

The general school population was whispering louder and louder out of disbelief, a rising murmur like waves, ever higher and greater, crashing against cliffs- he never screamed or made a scene on purpose, and he _always_ wore his uniform (even if it wasn't unusual for it to be stained or rumpled). Tsuna announcing his presence like this on _purpose_ was alien to the school.

Sakura found herself entranced by the sight of the Flame. It was almost magnetic, it felt- _alive_. It drew her in, the flutter of a fan, a low pulse, a light in the darkness, whispering and calling like... And it didn't burn him. Nobody seemed to focus on the irregularity shining bright at his hairline. Almost by instinct, she traced her own pathways, momentarily relished in the feel of the golden light speeding along inside. He had it, too. It flickered, a heartbeat of Naruto-orange and the likening she'd just used said it all, held every implication.

( _Oh gods, somebody else had it as well, why was she so surprised, why wasn't she more surprised, why was she filled with this excitement, this glee, this sense of anticipation_?) 

Then, the next thing registered in her mind, cooling her thrill and dampening her curiosity by a significant degree. A pulse bordering anger rippled beneath pale skin. Her short, sturdy heels of her old-school military boots clicked audibly as she stomped over to where Tsuna was facing Sasagawa Kyouko, Mochida firm next to her sister and an expression of hauteur and outrage. The way he carried himself was all wrong, familiar in a way it shouldn't be, like the previous bully Akamu who'd laid unwarranted claims in girls as he saw fit. 

The orange flame flickered out just as she arrived, leaving Tsuna stranded and semi-naked, looking mortified and terrified all at once. Unbeknownst to him, however, it was Mochida who saved the young boy from getting a dressing down -pun most certainly intended- when the raven stated: "Look at you, freak- pathetic! Don't talk to _my_ girl!" 

Sakura knew for a fact Kyouko was nobody's girl, mostly because Kyouko had no romantic inclinations whatsoever, and secondly because her disfavor of him showed through despite all her efforts to like everybody and be eternally polite. Unbuttoning her jacket with one hand while throwing her bag down at one of her trustworthy classmate's feet, she threw the yellow garment to the panicking Tsuna so that he'd be able to cover up instead of standing there freezing, still obviously boyish with elbows and knees and soft cheeks.

"She doesn't belong to anybody, asshole, she can make her own decisions," Sakura spat, shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she stalked to stand face-to-face with the cocky raven. At the beginning of the year she'd matched his height with ease but now, she noticed with chagrin fueling her omnipresent spark of anger now blooming like wildfire in her chest (because there was always a little ember of irritation somewhere, deep inside, a little pinprick of yellow gleaming, easily missed and ignored up until somebody fanned it), that he'd started shooting up like a poplar. She only reached his nose.  

Sakura remembered her previous year, the curious hands of those who didn't understand, of those who'd never heard that _it was so fucking wrong to just assume and Sakura had been keeping it all inside for too long, everything had built up, there was so much material for the fire to rage on_. 

Kyouko was too sweet and soft of character to do more than shyly squirm away, deer-eyed and not knowing what to do. Days since last fight -a term including mere shoves and verbal wrestling- was a staggering 39 days and Sakura had a feeling it would be reduced to 0 very soon. The champagne bottle had been shaken enough and this was the final tickle. 

"You're lucky I don't fight girls," was Mochida's answer, eyes mirthful and genuinely unsuspecting. Two months into term had only seen two grapples, one of which mostly of words and a single knee to the stomach. He knew nothing. He was but a boy trying to prove himself Namimori's definition of a man but had created a swaggering bully instead. 

"You're unlucky I don't discriminate," was her reply, to which she feinted a feminine backhand to the temple, like a scolding swat almost, and the moment his hand went up to catch her wrist her foot swept out, catching behind his ankle and a split-second later, he was down on his back after an accompanying shove to his ribs to accelerate the shift of gravity, wide-eyed. She squatted with a pleasant smile, skirt tucked neatly around her thighs; "I'd say that's a warning from Kyouko-chan and all the other girls too quiet to speak up." 

She was annoyed at Mochida. She was starting to get almost equally annoyed at all the girls still not stepping out of their little boxes of sugar and courtesy. 

Putting the thought out of her mind she rose back up again and headed toward the main building, using the tip of her foot to launch her bag into the air and catch with whilst trying to remember if the maths test would be today or the next.

(It turned out to be that day before lunch, and Sakura knew for a fact that she'd aced it with even better scores than usual -probabilities was just _too easy_ \- but then she also learned, mouth full of soy-drenched rice and listening with half an ear to the gossiping Kimiko and the trustworthy girl who'd guarded her bag, Shizuka, that Mochida's pride had been bruised enough to thirst for vengeance. He'd managed to keep his ass-handing by _the mental Sasagawa_  under wraps, but a bleeding ego remained a bleeding ego and clearly it needed to bring somebody else down as well for it to feel better.) 

Sawada Tsunayoshi was deathly pale when he wobbled into the gym. Or so Kimiko informed her during the series of reports spamming Sakura's phone the entirety of the afternoon, supplying her with an endless series of one-phrase texts. Shizuka would be giving a more coherent description later that evening in that special soft, lackadaisical voice of hers. The rosette in question was practicing her taijutsu side-kicks in the desolate boxing hall, too fast and agile, too strong. Too precise and sending the dummies crashing even though they were secured to roof, floor and walls: it was no problem fixing them back up in shape, she had experience concerning those. 

Every few moments, Sakura's muted phone's screen lit up with that ethereal blue light from her peripheral vision, an irritating buzz easily ignored. It wasn't until an hour later that she checked it, if only because the many vibrations had brought it far too close to the bench's edge for her liking. Hair up in a high ponytail and sweat a sheen upon her brow, feeling familiarly gross both on her back and in the valley between her breasts, her eyes caught the light of the phone.

_Kimimimiko: he's a ghost, his knees are shaking_

_Kimimimiko: can't believe he came_

_Kimimimiko: saku you need to come it's starting_

_Kimimimiko: mochida is beating tsuna bad_

_Kimimimiko: with a stick_

_Kimimimiko: seriusly wtf come_

_Kimimimiko: don't leave me alone_

_Kimimimiko: it's awkward cos shizu has to stay to wait for her brother_

_Kimimimiko: she's uncomfortable so I can't leave her_

_Kimimimiko: and she's like frozen_

_Kimimimiko: tsuna almost tripped_

_Kimimimiko: this is painful_

_Kimimimiko: cringy and painful_

_Kimimimiko: dame tsuna just needs one hit how hard can it be to turn around_

_Kimimimiko: but he's only running_

_Kimimimiko: mochida hit him again_

_Kimimimiko: tsuna is screaming_

_Kimimimiko: but more because he always screams when afraid_

_Kimimimiko: the hits don't seem hard_

_Kimimimiko: but i wouldn't wanna get sticked so..._

_Kimimimiko: why am i even here_

_Kimimimiko: tsuna fell like a brick_

_Kimimimiko: dunno what's happ_

_Kimimimiko: omg_

_Kimimimiko: wtf_

_Kimimimiko: saku_

_Kimimimiko: sakura_

_Kimimimiko: SAKURA_

_Kimimimiko: TSUNA WON AND I HAVENT GOT A KLU WHAS HAPPENGNQ_

_Kimimimiko: COME SRSLY_

_Kimimimiko: HE PLULED OUT TEH HAIR_

_Kimimimiko: MOCHIdas hair all of it hes bald now_

_Kimimimiko: hurry tf up alrady shizu s gonna leave cos she doosn't like violence_

_Kimimimiko: SAKURA WTF WHERE AR YOU WHEN YO SHOULD BE SOMEWHRE_

_Kimimimiko: YOUD GET THAT ISMKR IN YOUR EYE_

_Kimimimiko: *SMIRK_

_Kimimimiko: THE ONE WHICH SAYS YOURE CURIOUS_

_Kimimimiko: tsuna is naked again btw_

* * *

Just like it had been Kimiko who'd known about the gym-match almost before Tsuna himself had caught a whiff of the challenge, it was the skinny girl who knew all about the fact that little Namimori Middle was going to do what only Big Schools -capital letters required- did and accept student during midterm. 

His name was Gokudera Hayato and even though Sakura hardly interacted with the same social zeal and eager butterflying as some of her friends did, the instant she caught glimpse of the angry jade eyes she knew he had to be the newbie. He stood out, not only because of his stance (the aggressive hunch of the shoulders, the furrow between his brows, the way his eyes were permanently narrowed into a glower) but because nobody else had that coloring or bone structure. Snowy skin, silvery hair tangling at the shoulders, the smooth cut of the jawline already hinting. 

The reason Sakura recalled as much of the stranger after a brief glimpse was because hard won ninja instincts never faded and Gokudera Hayato undoubtedly held a number to his name: a number of corpses he'd left behind. He'd killed and was now prowling the hallways of the school, her school, passing her friends and none of them noticing anything off about him. Sometimes she was unable to wrap her head around the extent of the civilian - _true_ civilian- population's unassuming trust in the daily passersby. 

Sakura debated talking to Gokudera, confronting him. 

Then she decided it was none of her business: he was a year younger, he was hardly in her way nor a danger to her and her friends, a week of covert observations had made that clear. If he wanted to blow them up sky-high with that dynamite he kept up his sleeves, in the lining of his pants, beneath all those layers of sloppy clothing, he'd have done it already. 

It wasn't as though there weren't others with his threat-level: Hibari, still the tempest and iron of the school, gliding through the hallways like a dark phantom and excluding that same aura, that same danger, most likely outclassed him. The civilian and oblivious Yamamoto was another one of those she couldn't quite forget -a polar opposite of the newbie, now that she thought of it, all golden tan and choppy dark hair with a smile to match his easy stance and merry hazel eyes- for there was something too brilliant about him, about the way he moved and twisted, running laps as though it was nothing and deadly accurate: had the balls he hit been modified to detonate a few seconds after he'd hit them, Namimori would be brought to its knees. 

It was like watching somebody with amnesia, doing all those things setting her on the edge but never aware, as though it was habit or instinct instead of conscious choice. 

Another thing those two had in common was how they'd started trailing after Tsuna, who'd at first been jumpy around the serial smoker and hesitant whenever the baseball player would hang around, as though frightened one would kill him and the other leave him the moment he dared to hope for their friendship to be an established fact and not merely a question lurking in the shadows of his mind, shy and insecure. 

Sakura found it endearing. 

Hibari clearly did not, but they were herbivores and they weren't quite flocking so he did nothing, yet she'd noticed his one slip-up, that one telltale sign when she'd walked out the gates of the school, bruises from their second and most recent fight blooming across her ribs, ugly and certain to lump, and a cut smarting against her collarbone. (She knew for a fact that she'd dislocated his thumb and that he was a hair's breadth from limping, so that made up for it.) He'd stood on the roof, which in itself was not at all uncommon, watching over his grounds like a territorial tiger upon his cliff, and while she couldn't distinguish his expression, she could sense his line of attention. 

It was fastened upon the trio passing her as they walked out of the school gates, her own steps slowing. Shizuka and Kimiko were waiting at the other side of the road, the dark-haired stick shattering the shorter, slightly chubbier girl's ears off, too far away to spot Sakura from where she stood. 

The ex-medic in question trailed an absentminded few steps behind the three boys; had she been a cat her ears would've perked upward to catch each syllable passing their lips. There was something entirely unnatural about the proceedings in their trio: the events prickling in her mind and character analysis didn't add up, there had to be other factors, outside influences. 

"..nd not everything is about the fucking practices, baseball freak!" Gokudera snapped, words biting and eyes flashing. 

"Maa maa," said Yamamoto, and Sakura's world almost tilted and all she felt as Kakashi's comforting hand on her shoulder at those signature words. The athlete continued: "we should all play, sometime, together." 

"You're a bloody idiot-" 

"Guys, ah," Tsuna started, a chuckle wavering his words, hands fidgeting in front of him as though about to gesticulate but not self-assured enough to move more than necessary, "there's no need to argue, I think, maybe we should do something together- sometime- if you want to that is, I wouldn't want to... Um. Yeah." 

"You'd... Juudaime, I'd go anywhere you go," was Gokudera's startling answer, greens of his eyes alight and tone vehement. _Juudaime_. Sakura tasted it on her tongue, glancing at them, grays of her eyes sharp. 

"Sounds fun," Yamamoto agreed blithely, smile white and dimpled, "we could go study at my place now, if you'd like. We'd have to find more people to be able to play baseball, anyway." 

Tsuna dropped something at that moment, most likely out of surprise at the honest answers coming so readily his way, so sincerely. It took Sakura a moment to recognize his pencil case: it was a disfigured little bag of amber with a ruler sticking out on the side, too long for the case to contain properly. None of the boys noticed and kept on walking. 

She'd picked it up before even registering it, and with a funny smile curling her chapped she called out: "Tsunayoshi-san!" 

He tensed before turning around, Gokudera hostile and Yamamoto waving cheerily: "Sakura-chan." 

"You dropped this," Sakura grinned, holding the pencil case out like an offering of peace, a glimmer of humor in her eye at the gesture. Tsuna blushed bright red all the way down to his neck and up the tips of his ears, clearly recognizing her from the Kyouko incident, and -even more clearly- was intent on never letting himself live it down. 

"Right," he said, hands tucked in front of him like she'd seen a T-Rex do on those old posters in the science lab. Then he realized he hadn't accepted his lost materials yet and quickly grasped it, skittish. "Thank you- Sasagawa-san." 

"Call me Sakura, please," she implored with a wave of her hand, and finally the red began receding from his features, almost returning to normal. "May I be frank?" 

"Uh." 

"I'm a huge fan of the way you rush into battle after ripping your clothes off. It's cool." 

She patted him on the shoulder before strolling home.

* * *

"What happened?" Sasagawa Ayame fretted when her oldest daughter arrived home, slipping off those boots which were starting to grow gray at the sides and worn on the soles. The red line glaring across the pale skin was a clean, straight cut, thankfully shallow even though the skin around it was red, hot, inflamed at the shock of the slice.

"I tried to take a shortcut through the forest part of the park," Sakura murmured, ducking her head with embarrassment but her jaw locked with bruised pride. "There was a dip and dry bush which didn't agree." 

"Come, I'll get you disinfectants," the ginger-haired woman placated, scurrying off to the kitchen where a sauce was simmering on low temperatures. Sakura followed, and her eyes were soft as she gazed at the woman rummaging in one of the cupboards. It still seared in her veins sometimes, the curdling anger at herself: she hated hated hated the idea of being a default liar around her family, around her friends. 

She hated the idea of them being disillusioned more and let herself be pampered by the worried but scolding Ayame relishing in being able to mother the child who'd broken off her dependence so many years ago already. 

* * *

Sakura was, on principle, always frank with herself and it was therefore she could admit -in the privacy of her own mind- that she had no clue what exactly was going on. It was also one of the first things she told Tsuna when he opened the door, about to rush to school. The young brunette yelped as he jumped at the sight of the pink-haired wild card, who stood only a few steps away in his doorframe, lithely muscled crossed arms and heavy WWI boots rooted into the stone of his stairs. 

"I haven't a clue what exactly is happening to you lately," she told him, and he froze on the floor, about to heave himself up but now a sprawled statue. "But I'm gonna help you." 

Anybody else would've missed the split-second of civil war raging behind the golden browns his eyes, too soft to harbor such feelings. Then he made a decision: he wouldn't be telling her, that much she knew, because the subtleties of his demeanor betrayed he didn't want to hurt her. He was protecting her by keeping her out of whatever he'd gotten himself tangled in. 

And that action spoke of his Naruto-heart and gravity of whatever lake of toxic glue he'd gotten dumped into. 

"What?" His eyebrows rose up his hairline, eyelashes fluttering in a rapid succession of blinks and while that was a far too convincing display of confusion for her to be comfortable, exactly along the lines of his fidgety character, she saw right through the veil he'd thrown up between them. "I'm not, I don't- I, uh, what?" 

"Do you think I'm stupid," she questioned tartly. He scrambled up to his feet again but thankfully didn't snap into a smart salute at what Kimiko and Shizuka dubbed  _The Drill Sergeant Voice_. 

"No." 

"No what?" She probed, placing a hand on his shoulder and dragging him out of the house, adding: "we're gonna be late if you're gonna daydream, Tsuna-san."

There was a pause as he racked his mind whilst jogging after her to catch up. "What?" 

"What exactly do you think I am?" 

"I," he started, testing the words before speaking up, daring a nervous stare at his bedroom window. "I think... you're- smart?"

Sakura huffed a laugh, nudging his shoulder with hers, disguising her own glance up to the square window in the movement. There was a flicker of a movement there, a dark and humanoid shape disappearing out of view the moment she'd averted her eyes from Tsuna. A faint shiver tingled down her spine, hints of fingers tickling her back.

"A good start," she praised generously. "And it's because I'm smart that I know you're in deep shit which is gonna get even deeper. Now-" she held up a hand, shattering his counter-argument before it could even leave his tongue, "I won't ask about what's going on if it makes you uncomfortable, but please, just let me teach you how to at least carry yourself in such a way that you won't trip over your own feet." 

"I... think I'd like not tripping over them?" 

Sakura beamed to make a point, matching the spirited June sun: "Good. Let's start with not waddling like a duck: relax your hands, you're like an old lady used to carrying a handbag on each arm, let them swing naturally by your sides. And you can't lock your knees that much when you walk, your gait becomes stiff and it can give you pains in your joints when you grow up. So smooth out the steps, give them a hint of elasticity instead of walking like you're on stilts. And what's with the shoulders, do you have a chronic cramp? I can give you a good old sports massage at some point but it won't help if you're constantly shrinking into yourself like a turtle, so chill, glide through life. Life is beautiful. It's lovely, marvelous, fantastic. It's a wonder to exist at all, bask in that. Follow me here?" 

"I lost you when you said life was beautiful," he murmured after a moment, and it wasn't until two heartbeats later that Sakura grinned, wide and free, and he went red and turtled into himself even more, because that was most certainly a joke which he'd cracked. 

"Now try walking yourself," she instructed him, "walking like I just told you to, I mean."

For a moment he fastened a long stare onto her casually confident form, as though trying to pick out any signs that she was making fun of him or mocking him. After being leveled by the far too discerning eyes, Sakura hid her relief when he finally tried to walk-

And ended up doing what seemed to be an overdramatized mimicry of the swagger she'd seen cowboys do in Wild West movies. 

"Am I- like, do I... suck?" 

Sakura swallowed her first reply and offered: "it's an improvement but maybe... don't focus so much on the whole swinging-your-arms-and-legs part. Just the relax bit, to start with." 

She hoped he wouldn't end up doing a jellyfish impression.

* * *

Sakura found herself roped into accompanying the trio to Tsuna'a for a snack in order to give the more amicable two thirds of the group tips on what certain teachers are looking for in their answers. 

It was Yamamoto who'd asked, having seen her arrive with a smiling Tsuna earlier that day: "You wanna come along? We're about to study and we could really use some tips." 

It was very straightforward and if he was aware of the unusual blatancy of it, he didn't show it.

"Oh," she'd said to but herself a few moments time, cocking her head to the side with messy bangs usually framing her face now tangling around her temples in a rosy frizz, the air damp from rainfall and a watery sun admiring its reflections in the glassy puddles stretching across the grounds. Silver and graphite specked eyes turned to the slight would-be-host. "I wouldn't want to impose."  

"Oh, well, you're very welcome, but if you're busy I'd understand," Tsuna deflected with a surprisingly skillful array of words, smiling gently as though he were simply a sensitive person picking up on supposed hesitance. But Sakura thought of his nervous glance to the window, the shadow of a person managing to stay out of her sight, the way he'd jump even more often than before even though the bullying had ground to a halt, the way he'd managed to secure two of the most capable fighters as best friends despite the unlikeliness of their friendship. 

She thought of the fact that he usually was the worst liar on the earth but that he was now throwing up excuses in every direction like others would be throwing paper planes. 

"I don't have anything planned for today," she answered brightly, playing the card of obliviousness as they weren't close enough friends for them to know that obliviousness was never sincere in her, grinning sweetly to hide the bitter corns of glass in the corners of her lips. "I'd love to help you." 

They started walking, sinking into what she suspected was already an established routine: Yamamoto chattering on about everything unimportant with occasional input from Tsuna and biting comments from Gokudera whenever he felt like taking a break from burning either the baseball player or Sakura to ashes with his glare alone. But even that felt more like a default than actual hatred. 

"I'd like a bean bag for my birthday," Yamamoto informed them as they neared a bridge, the waters below glittering turquoise and winking as it flirted with the hesitant sun. "There's this amazing beige one I saw, it was patterned with blue and green leaves. I got to sit in it in the store and it was really nice, I'd be able to fall asleep there." 

"When's you're birthday?" Tsuna inquired. 

Yamamoto answered with a merry grin making his eyes crinkle: "The 24th of April." 

"That's eleven months from now," Sakura checked with the scarred eyebrow climbing up to in an attempt to find her hairline.

"Idiot!" Gokudera sniped, dutiful to his post of tsundere. "No wonder you always need help with your homework." 

Yamamoto laughed. "Well, not everybody can't be a genius like you!" Then he considered something. "For your birthday I could get you a bean bag with numbers on it. With pi and all it's decimals, you could even learn it by heart."

Sakura and Tsuna laughed as Gokudera swatted away the idea from the air with a snappy hand gesture. 

As Yamamoto tried to recall the numbers, only successfully guessing that 3 was the first in the series, Gokudera shoved his calloused hands into his pockets and averted his gaze as though to hide his expression in case it wasn't as grumpy as he was comfortable with: "This just can't get any worse." 

Then the slender girl with the auburn ponytail standing daringly on the right ledge serving as fence for the gently arched bridge cried out: " _Tsuna-kun_!"

Gokudera cast his jade eyes skyward as though asking what he'd done to deserve this. 

"You make it too easy for the universe," Sakura enlightened him before the perky newcomer had reached them. She was clad in the smart uniform of Midori Middle, a telltale sign of either brains or rich parents and likely a combination of both, her eyes a wide, dark cinnamon with enviously long lashes so black it almost seemed like a model's mascara.

It wasn't. 

"I've missed you, where were you yesterday? I was waiting for half an hour but you never came, you're lucky I'm here today! Honestly, I could've been doing my homework or work on that shirt- and will Reborn be home again, he _was_  charming but maybe we can lock your door this time? He scared me half to death when he just appeared like that, it was so sudden. Hahi, who're you? I'm Haru, Miura Haru," she bowed her head at the end of that monologue, glancing up again with a twinkle in her eye. Sakura pretended she hadn't seen the perky brunette flash a quick look at Tsuna before that.

"I'm Sakura, Sasagawa Sakura," the rosette introduced herself with her own polite nod, an echoing glimmer in her own stare. "Always a pleasure to meet a lovely lady such as yourself." 

"Oh gosh, yes, another Bond girl," Haru gushed excitedly, grabbing ahold of Sakura's more calloused ones in her own slender grip. "You have to cosplay with me- I'd say you have to be my James Bond but you have a more curves than I do, so you'll have to be my girl."

Sakura breathed out a toothy laugh, but it was Gokudera who made Haru react when he scoffed sharply, insinuatingly, almost an amused jeer. Yamamoto was admiring the urbanized river while Tsuna had gone bright red again, pointedly staring at his own worn sneakers and avoiding anything which had to do with the female anatomy. 

"Oh, hush you!" Haru snapped with a pursed set to her pale pink lips, hands on the slim curve of her hips. "Wet blanket." 

"I didn't even say anything," he droned with a light dancing in the meadow of his irises, lips twitching as he fished out a cigarette and lit it. "Didn't have to." 

"Who is Reborn?" Sakura asked pleasantly, steering the conversation in an other direction as they started walking again, Haru walking with a bounce to her step next to Tsuna, who seemed to be having a field day being ignorant to Haru's fingers occasionally brushing against his. It felt odd to know that he was most likely thinking fervently of Kyouko at the moment, and it still twisted something inside the eldest in the group even though the soreness of it had started to lessen. 

Tsuna'a shoulders could've been cut out of stone. 

"He's this home tutor living at the Sawada's," Yamamoto supplied helpfully. "But I'm not sure what he's teaching because we have to solve any school work ourselves." 

And that wasn't suspicious at all. Sakura sent a mental prayer to whatever was out there for her new angel, Yamamoto Takeshi. 

Gokudera breathed out the vile vapors next to her, watching the smoke curl as it faded upward in a slow, hazy dance. 

"He's still pretty new," Haru defended valiantly, although her tone was almost shrugging. "He's probably just checking the situation out." 

"Hmmm," Tsuna hummed. 

Sakura noticed how both he and Haru stared straight ahead now: they were hiding something about Reborn from her, trying to dance out of reach for her interest. Gokudera wouldn't reveal anything, that much she knew, and it seemed Yamamoto was genuinely ignorant to how things worked. Either that or he was the most brilliant actor she'd ever met, and unfortunately that seemed to be too many of those she knew. 

She wondered what it said about her. She was one of them. 

It was time to bring out the big guns, then: a direct and honest question to the weak link who didn't even realize they were links to begin with: "And what does Reborn-san say, then, Yamamoto-kun?" 

The only reaction she got was a lungful of smoke as Gokudera exhaled right into her face, and as the two of them walked behind the other trio it went unnoticed. She smothered a cough, breathing out through her nose until it felt like her lungs had been squeezed if every speck of oxygen they'd ever possessed. His eyes were fire, burning low and hot and poisonous, but he didn't say anything more and crushed his cigarette beneath the sole of his foot. He'd made his displeasure clear, but Sakura doubted he'd go screaming his head off like she'd seen him do at school whenever he'd lost that famous temper of his. 

"He's part of the mafia game we're playing," Yamamoto chimed. "You wanna join in as well? It's great fun, we even had a grapple with this other group also playing mafia- and I'd always thought they were criminals or something, although they sure hit hard!"

Her veins were rime frost and smoldering embers.

"Oh, sounds nice, I'd love to try," Sakura heard herself say, to which Haru glanced behind her with an odd smile, fingers once again brushing against Tsuna's. 

"It'll be nice to have another girl around," the brunette said with keen eyes behind her fringe, even though her smile remained genuine. Sakura wished she didn't understand how the slender brunette was feeling, wished she didn't know of that gnawing helplessness, and something must've shown on her face because Haru relaxed and almost seemed to be skipping next to the by-then almost hunched Tsuna. 

Worry tickled its way up her throat, a nagging cold in her veins. Haru wasn't completely aware then of all the details either, then, but Tsuna was and she was fairly sure Gokudera was comfortable with whatever it was they'd gotten mixed up with. 

Playing mafia. How much of it was a game? What exactly did this mean?

"Nosy little shit," the silver haired smoker grumbled almost inaudibly under his breath, but as a token offered one of his cigarettes even though his glare clearly spelled doom should she actually take one. She shook her head with a polite smile he snorted once, something lifting the corners of his lips upward, if only for a moment. 

When they finally arrived at the Sawada household, it turned out Reborn wasn't there. Sakura didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed, but it leaned toward the latter.

* * *

_You okay, Shizuka? You weren't there at school._

_Heiwajima Shizuo: I'm fine. It's my older brother who's less okay._

_What happened?_

_Heiwajima Shizuo: He was found on the street in an awful state. Don't worry, he'll be fine, but he's hospitalized._

_What??? What happened???_

_Heiwajima Shizuo: Some guy beat him up. It was getting pretty dark so he didn't see who but the guy who did it was_

_Heiwajima Shizuo: well_

_Heiwajima Shizuo: Clearly not new at fighting_

_That's horrible. Do you want me to come over?_

_I live close anyway_

_I can be there in 5_

_Heiwajima Shizuo: The guy is still out there_

_Heiwajima Shizuo: Please don't go outside while it's dark_

_If you say so_

_Heiwajima Shizuo: <3<3_

_I feel sorry for your brother_

_He has a judo competition in a few days, doesn't he?_

_Heiwajima Shizuo: Yeah_

_Heiwajima Shizuo: That's why I can't believe he couldn't do anything about his attacker_

_Heiwajima Shizuo: Nii-chan is strong_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarification for the nicknames Sakura has given them on her phone:  
> Kimimimiko = Kimiko  
> Heiwajima Shizuo = Shizuka 
> 
> Yep, I'm trying to keep this realistic and am therefore taking away some of the girls' complete obliviousness: while it's part of Yamamoto's character to think it's all a game until Mukuro and after that be in some sort of confused denial until the Varia saunters into the picture, I think Kyouko is smart enough to realize it's not exactly normal what's going on and I'll try to keep Haru's reactions normal but in character as well - she's got serious potential to build on that spunk but instead all she does in the original series is make some exclamations and "hahi"s. 
> 
> Another great, huge, ultra hug for all of you lovely readers for the awesome support! I'm literally mind blown and I usually never use that phrase. It might just be the first time. Wow, I'm not sure if that's great or a little bit sad. 
> 
> Take care^^


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